Some claimed the Lion was a barbarian dressed in civilization.
This was incorrect.
He was not a barbarian.
He was something far more dangerous:
a predator who understood order.
The First Legion did not submit easily.
They never had.
They were the First — the Emperor's original angels of death. For decades they had stood as the exemplar against which all others were measured.
Then the other Primarchs returned.
Other Legions began to eclipse their glory.
This was… unacceptable.
They wanted their Primarch to restore supremacy.
Lion El'Jonson did not give speeches.
He did not offer reassurance.
He simply challenged dissent.
Bare-handed.
Unarmored.
One after another, challengers stepped forward.
One after another, they fell.
Bones broken. Pride shattered. Respect earned.
The matter was settled.
Temporarily.
Now the Lion faced a far more troubling problem.
"What do you mean," he asked flatly, "you do not understand the Rangdan?"
Urian scratched his head.
"I don't."
The Lion stared.
How could warriors fight an enemy and know nothing about it?
On Caliban, after slaying the great beasts, the Order dissected them, studied their weaknesses, recorded patterns of behavior. Knowledge meant survival.
Here?
Nothing.
He questioned officers across the Legion.
No answers.
He requested campaign records.
None existed.
The Lion fell silent.
Then decided to seek someone who might know.
Elsewhere
"Guilliman, did I perform poorly?"
"Russ, tell me exactly what I did wrong."
Sanguinius paused in the corridor, wings folding in mild confusion.
He had come seeking Guilliman.
Instead, he found Guilliman and Russ leaning across a strategy table, voices sharp, expressions intense.
Sanguinius: ?
During the Rangdan campaign:
Russ had been tasked with clearing scattered Rangdan incursions.
Guilliman led the Ultramarines as a primary engagement force.
On a mining world, Guilliman's forces had been ambushed when a portal opened and disgorged a massive Rangdan host.
Russ's reply to the Ultramarines' call:
"We're pinned. Fall back to Legion Zero's rally point."
Guilliman executed a fighting withdrawal.
Then two unfamiliar entities descended — wrapped in black mist, unlike any Rangdan previously encountered.
They butchered Imperial forces.
Guilliman felt the shift instantly.
These were not ordinary foes.
He charged.
His elite guard failed to stop him.
He killed them.
Barely.
Grievously wounded, he broke through and reached the rendezvous point.
Russ was waiting.
Scowling.
"You're late."
Guilliman blinked.
"…Am I?"
Russ exhaled heavily.
"We're all late."
They learned soon after that Yuki had been gravely wounded — and that Magnus, half a galaxy away, had saved her.
That should have ended it.
Instead, they argued.
Russ insisted Guilliman should have disengaged immediately rather than delay against the two monsters.
Guilliman argued his sons would have died if he had not intervened.
Voices rose.
Insults followed.
Ambitious usurper.
Barbaric savage.
Then Sanguinius intervened, calming the storm.
Russ snorted and left.
Sanguinius placed a gentle hand on Guilliman's shoulder.
"Do not be angry, brother. Russ meant no harm."
Guilliman looked up calmly.
"I'm not angry."
Sanguinius blinked.
Guilliman continued:
"Neither was he."
Their argument had been analysis disguised as anger.
War demanded release.
Afterward, the pressure lifted.
Sanguinius frowned.
"Then why were you so intense?"
Guilliman waved a hand.
"We were venting."
Sanguinius was unsettled.
He had not sensed their true emotions at all.
Was this the difference between perception and discipline?
He considered Guilliman's political mind — that made sense.
But Russ?
Appearances deceive.
Sanguinius leaned closer.
"Brother… have you met our newly returned eldest brother?"
Guilliman shook his head.
"No. What is he like?"
Sanguinius lowered his voice.
"He is… unusual. I think he—"
An Ultramarine entered.
"Father, a Primarch requests audience. He identifies himself as Lion El'Jonson."
Sanguinius: …
Guilliman: …
The Lion Arrives
"I require specific intelligence regarding the Rangdan."
The Lion's gaze did not blink.
It was not hostile.
It was not warm.
It was absolute.
Guilliman felt, briefly, as if he were being interrogated by a tribunal.
Only Sanguinius's subtle tap on his arm broke the tension.
Guilliman spoke carefully.
"I possess little intelligence. Much of my memory concerning the enemy is… absent."
The Lion narrowed his eyes.
"You commanded in the campaign."
"Yes," Guilliman replied. "Which is precisely why the absence is notable."
He paused.
"I believe the Rangdan weaponize memory. I suspect our memories were erased to prevent exploitation."
Sanguinius blinked.
Ah.
So that is why the Empire fights shadows.
The Lion considered this.
Then spoke:
"You may leave."
Guilliman stared.
"…Leave?"
He realized, after a beat, the Lion meant the front.
"The First Legion will assume responsibility. We are better suited to this threat."
Silence.
Sanguinius felt dread.
Guilliman inhaled slowly.
"Why must I leave, brother?"
The Lion frowned slightly.
On Caliban, orders were obeyed.
Here, explanations were required.
"The First Legion bears the greatest burden," he said. "If we fail, others risk annihilation. Therefore we assume the risk."
Protection.
Duty.
Efficiency.
None of which he expressed clearly.
Guilliman heard only dismissal.
He swung.
The Lion caught the punch effortlessly.
"What are you doing?" the Lion asked, genuinely puzzled.
Guilliman stared at him.
"I was about to ask the same."
Guilliman was not known for losing composure.
But this felt like insult layered upon insult.
The Lion was confused.
The Emperor had told him the First Legion must face the greatest dangers.
He sought to shield his brothers from unnecessary risk.
Why was Guilliman angry?
Sanguinius stood between them, smiling outwardly while dying internally.
On his left: an impenetrable fortress.
On his right: controlled fury.
Inside his head:
Sister, please come quickly.
I cannot survive this diplomacy alone.
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